Blind As A Bat
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: Batman's suspicious - Gotham's quiet. Too quiet. At least until a new heroine comes along, turning both Batman and Bruce's life upsidedown. But after all, how much trouble can a blind woman cause? Bruce/OC. Read and review please!
1. Welcome To Gotham

**Disclaimer: This goes for the whole fic. Apart from Ilaria, I own NOTHING! **

**A/N: Set about six months after TDK. And I wasn't sure where Bruce's penthouse was, but I made it just some random Wayne-owned building. Sorry if it's wrong, but what can I do about it now? Enjoy! **

**Chapter One – Welcome To Gotham**

I hate it when people feel sorry for me. Most don't say it, but I can hear it in their voices anyway.

I was born blind at birth. I've never seen a sunrise, I've never seen the stars, and I don't know what my parents look like. It really doesn't bother me. How can you miss something you've never experienced? I don't need to see a sunrise to feel warmth on my face. I don't need to see the stars to reach for them. I know my parents love me without needing to see the smiles on their faces.

My name is Ilaria Simmons. Odd mix, I know. My mother is Italian, and my father English. It still got me some weird looks at school though. I was born in Rome, raised in London, and now…I suppose Gotham is my home. Now _that _sounds strange. Having an actual, permanent home. Until six months ago I was a part of the London Symphony Orchestra, and touring all around the world. I've been to Asia, Australia, Europe, North and South America. There's not much call for concerts in Antarctica.

I play the piano. I can't ever remember not wanting to be a pianist. My mother always told me I had a natural ear – which is a good job, I suppose, since I can't read the music. All music, if it's played well, is wonderful, but the piano (to me at least) is transcendent. It's liquid beauty. I _see _when I play. That sounds silly, I know.

I've never been bored with my life, but since moving here, it's certainly gotten…well more dangerous, at least, but definitely more exciting as well. Falling in love always is, isn't it?

---

**Five months earlier**

"Ilaria, would you hurry up!"

"Yeah, I'm coming!" I called back, rolling my eyes at my best friend's tone. Since being indefinitely loaned to the Gotham Symphony Orchestra, I'd moved in with Charlie, one of my oldest friends. She'd moved to America with her now-ex husband, and had offered to let me stay with her until I found my own place. This morning I'd booked a showing for an apartment a few blocks from here, and, as usual, we were late.

I unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out. "I'm ready, I'm ready. Keep your hair on. Jasper!"

My guide dog – who went almost everywhere with me – came trotting over, and sat patiently at my feet. "Charlie, hand me the harness would you?"

She pressed it into my hand, and I quickly put it on Jasper, taking the handle in my left hand. I rubbed his ears briefly and stood upright. "Now we can go."

She opened the door, and Jasper led me out the apartment while Charlie locked the door. And then locked it. And locked it. I giggled. "I refuse to believe that this city is _that_ dangerous."

"Well where else would you find a man who dresses a bat patrolling the city every night?" she asked me.

"New York could certainly do with one."

"Well the police in New York aren't all totally bent," she pointed out.

"I thought you said the new commissioner was one of the good guys."

"He is, but if he's working with bent cops-"

"I thought that was dealt when the clown guy got put in prison?"

"The 'clown guy'?" she repeated incredulously. "The _Joker_, Ria, the _Joker_."

I shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, my point is, surely Gotham's got to the point where it _isn't_ all that dangerous anymore?"

"Wait till you've lived here for a few weeks," she said. "See if you still think that."

"Well I live here now," I reminded her. By this time we'd gotten to the street, and it was raining lightly. I smiled – I've always liked the feel of rain on my skin.

Charlie, however, hasn't. Ever, for as long as I've known her. "Bloody rain! I swear, it's always raining in this city!"

"This is the first time it's rained in two weeks," I said.

"But we haven't got a cab yet, and in this rain it's going to take us-"

Footsteps sounded in my ear; it was busy on the street anyway, and there were footsteps all around us, but these were much closer than the others. Any closer and the guy would have been standing on my foot. I knew it was a man – tall and quite big from his length of stride and heaviness of step. A loud, piercing whistle went off in my ear, and I winced slightly. When you have enhanced hearing things like that are really _loud_.

He'd lifted up his arm to hail the taxi, and as he lowered it again I got a wave of expensive cologne, just the right amount of it to be alluring but not overpowering. Something I definitely wouldn't mind smelling again.

The sound of an engine came closer, and a taxi pulled up next to us. "Thank you," Charlie said in a rather breathless voice that sounded nothing like her. I raised an eyebrow, but got into the car first, Jasper coming after me. "Corner of twenty-seventh and twelfth please," I said to the cabbie.

Charlie got in, and we set off. "What was that all about?" I asked her. "Your voice hasn't been that high since we were about eleven."

"That was Bruce Wayne!" she said, still sounding breathless. "_Bruce Wayne _just called a taxi for us!"

"Who?" I asked.

"Ilaria, don't you ever listen to the TV?"

"Not really. I prefer to actually do something useful with my time," I teased. "Who's Bruce Wayne, anyway?"

"The prince of Gotham? The head of Wayne Enterprises? Like…the richest man in America?"

"That's Bill Gates," I said.

"Whatever," she replied. "The point _is _we just met Bruce Wayne!"

"He didn't say a word. I don't think 'met' is the right term." Then I frowned. "And who said that I needed any help hailing a cab? Just because-"

"Oh for crying out loud. Here we go again."

"What? I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, as I keep telling you. And your heart is still beating _really _fast," I added. "Is he that good-looking?"

Charlie was one of only four people who knew just how much my other senses compensated for my lack of vision. I could hear people's heartbeats up to thirty feet away. On an empty street I could hear footsteps a hundred yards from me. My dad always joked that the only one he knew who could smell better than me was Jasper. My mother didn't really like talking about it – I got the feeling that sometimes she thought my senses were a little supernatural. My brother, Ben, knew too.

"Yeah he is!" Charlie exclaimed. "Oh my God I'm so red!"

I raised a hand, but didn't have to put it to her face in order to feel the heat coming off it. "You are," I agreed. "Now can we put Bruce Wayne aside and concentrate on finding me an apartment?"

"I don't see why you can't just stay with me," she pointed out.

"Because I can't fit the piano at yours, and I'd wake up all the neighbours even if I could practise."

"So you want a big place, and somewhere far from neighbours. Christ, Ilaria, you need a penthouse."

"Well that's good," I smiled.

The cab slowed and pulled up outside the building. I got a twenty out of my purse and handed it to the driver. "Thank you."

As we got out, I pointed upward. "It's the one at the top. Apparently it has its own helipad."

Charlie gave a huge intake of breath. "You mean you're _actually _getting a penthouse?! Ria, how the hell are you going to afford that?!"

"My dad's dad apparently left me some money that's been sitting in a savings account since I was three. There's quite a lot in there. But I'll be blowing all of it on this apartment."

"How much is there?" she asked curiously.

"About twenty million," I said, blushing.

"You never told me you were rich!" she spluttered after a while.

"I'm not if we're talking Bruce Wayne standards," I said. "And I've never used the money – there's a clause in my grandfather's will that says it has to be used to buy a house. And besides, what did your last painting sell for?"

I knew she was blushing again, and it was while before she spoke, and then it was quiet. "Two-fifty."

I grinned. "What was that sorry?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand, ok?" she answered.

"And I couldn't afford this, but the realtor I spoke to on the phone told me that the owner had told her to accept the first offer over fifteen million they got."

"So there's something wrong with it?" Charlie asked sharply.

"That's why I brought you," I told her. "Come on."

We went inside, being greeted quickly by the woman I'd spoken to on the phone. "Hi! I'm Nancy! It's so nice to finally meet you!"

I stretched out my hand, and she shook it with quite a limp grip. I suppressed the urge to sigh. People were always so careful with me; I wasn't made out of china, for Heaven's sake. "Pleasure's all mine. I'm Ilaria Simmons, this is my friend Charlotte Grant."

"Great! Shall we go up?" she asked.

She led us to an elevator – I like small spaces. I can get a picture of the room much more clearly, since sounds bounce off everything and echo back. It's like sonar, building up a picture in my head of what the room looks like. Not that there's much to see in an elevator. "Now, to get to the penthouse, you have to have a key, and the lock is inside the button. Just twist and push."

"Do you mind if I do that?" I asked. If I was going to be living here, I needed to know how to get in.

She pressed the key into my hand. "The buttons are just to your right, penthouse is at the top."

I smiled and stretched out my hand, tracing the rows of buttons. It was easy enough to find the one with the key hole in it, and then to put the key carefully in. I twisted and pushed as she'd said, and within seconds the doors closed with a soft _ping_.

Charlie immediately launched into her interrogation. "So what's wrong with the apartment? Place like this, must be worth at least double fifteen million."

"Yes, it is, but I'm afraid I can't give you a particular reason. The owner's well-known for changing his mind because of his little whims, after all," Nancy said.

"Who is the owner?" I asked curiously. Technically she probably wasn't supposed to tell me, but I could tell from her tone – Nancy liked to gossip.

"Well don't tell anyone I told you, but would you believe that Bruce Wayne is selling this place?"

"Bruce Wayne?" I exclaimed. "He's selling it?"

"Well, apparently his house is all rebuilt so he doesn't need this place anymore."

"Rebuilt?" I muttered to Charlie out of the corner of my mouth.

"He burned it to the ground when he was drunk," she whispered back.

I suppressed a smile, wondering if I'd ever get a chance to speak to the elusive Mr Wayne. Seemed likely, especially since there was the opening of Symphony Hall coming up. The kind of thing that socialite billionaires attended.

The penthouse was fifty eight floors up, but the elevator took less than twenty seconds to reach it. The doors opened with another _ping_, and immediately I felt warmth flood my face. _The sun must be out._ "It's stopped raining," I said softly.

I don't think either of them heard me; Charlie gave a huge gasp. "Oh my God!"

"Big then?" I enquired.

"Huge!" she said with wonder in her voice.

"Describe it to me?" I asked.

"Windows on three sides, floor to ceiling. There are double doors leading to a balcony, about ten feet to your left. Spiral staircase directly in front of us, leading upward to a second floor. There's raised-dais bit just behind it that would be perfect for the piano, Ria. And there's three other doors on the right, but they're closed."

"That's the kitchen and downstairs bathroom, as well as the dining room," Nancy interrupted. "Around the corner is the main reception area and the doors to the helipad."

"I don't think I'll be using that a lot," I put in, smiling.

Nancy continued. "Upstairs we have the master bedroom and two smaller ones – all ensuite, and the private living room."

On the harness, I could feel Jasper fidgeting, and I turned to Nancy. "Is it alright if I let my dog have a sniff around? He's very well trained."

"Um…ok then. Sure, I guess."

I grinned and touched her arm briefly. "Thank you, Nancy."

I bent and unhooked the handle from the jacket that Jasper wore, and patted his head. He took it as an invitation to explore the apartment, and headed off. I listened to the sound of his paws. "Wooden floor? Sounds like…ash?" Oak would be a softer, lower sound, but pine would be loud and harsh. Ash was somewhere in the middle.

There was a pause before she spoke again. "Uh, yes. And marble upstairs."

"Hmm. I should imagine that gets cold," I commented.

"Not at all," Nancy said smoothly. "Under-floor heating."

I had to hand it to her. She was good at her job. She answered all the questions I had, pointed out all the features that would be beneficial to me without spending too much time on things that wouldn't matter. She didn't even mention the what were I'm sure spectacular views. Charlie kept gasping at every corner we turned, so I guessed they probably were wonderful.

Every so often, Jasper's cold wet nose would press into my palm, reassuring himself that I was still where I was supposed to be. When we moved upstairs he barked a few times before following my scent upstairs. "Honestly, I thought guide-dogs were supposed to be smart," I muttered.

When it came to the kitchen, Nancy spoke to Charlie more than me – I imagined she thought someone else would be cooking for me. I didn't correct her assumption; it could lead to too many questions about how I cooked for myself, and then what else I could do, and how. If things went to plan, I'd just be a blind woman living in Bruce Wayne's old penthouse, with no one guessing what I intended to be doing.

After about an hour of showing us around, Nancy got a call, so went a little way apart from us to have her conversation. I tried not to focus on it, instead conferencing with Charlie. "What do you think?" I asked.

"Well it _looks _fabulous," she said. "But for you…do you like it? Could you live here?"

I nodded. "I think so. Plus it has all the space I need…"

"Yeah, for all those glamorous cocktail parties you'll be having," she commented dryly.

"I could have glamorous cocktail parties!" I protested.

"Do you know the names of any cocktails?"

"Oh shut up."

Nancy came back over, a smile in her voice. I already knew what she was going to say; I'd heard her book another viewing over the phone, and the other party had sounded quite enthusiastic. "Well, I have a lot of interested parties, and I've just booked another viewing, so…"

"I'll take it," I said decisively.

---

**A/N: So what do you think? Good? Bad? Let me know if you'd like me to continue by reviewing please! And Bruce will actually talk in the next chapter, I promise! **


	2. An Encounter

**A/N: Yay I'm so glad you like it – thank you to everyone who reviewed! Here's hoping you continue to do so. **

**Chapter Two – An Encounter**

My brother was the only person in the whole world who knew the reason I'd agreed to the transfer to Gotham. In truth, despite Charlie being here, I had no desire to be in the most dangerous city in America. Except for one thing.

Batman.

It didn't take long to move in. The money was transferred, my things – most of which had been in storage for weeks now – were finally out. It wasn't difficult to find a moving firm and arrange for them to be taken to my new apartment. I made sure my piano was the first thing unpacked. That, too, had been left to me by my grandfather; an antique Steinway Grand, mahogany and walnut inlay. I'd never seen it, and I knew it was utterly beautiful. I'd requested blueprints for the apartment so that I could work out where everything would go before I moved in, determined that I'd be totally independent from day one.

As I expected, the piano was out of tune, but I'd been tuning and maintaining it myself since I was ten; it wasn't a difficult job to correct the wrong notes. Once that was done, I stopped with a wince as there was a muffled crash from outside. _Please don't let that have been Ben's box. _If some of the stuff he'd made me got broken, he'd never forgive me. It turned out it was a box full of my books – only one had ripped pages, but brail books weren't as rare as they had been a few years ago. I'd just have to get another copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._

"Hey, Miss Simmons?" one of them asked. I identified him as Chris, one of the younger ones. His voice hadn't taken on the smooth deepness that adult men get, so I guessed he was about seventeen.

I smiled. "Yes, Chris?"

"Um, I was thinking…could you play for us? While we're moving your stuff in?"

"Well as soon as my piano stool is-"

"Here it is!"

I grinned and sat down at my newly re-tuned piano. "What would you like to hear?"

"Anything, it doesn't matter," he said. "But if I tell my mom that I met Ilaria Simmons and didn't ask her to play then she'll kill me. She's a big fan," he added shyly. "My parents went to New York for their anniversary last year and heard you play."

I smiled and put my hands on the keys, taking a moment to run my fingers along the cold ivory. "We'll start with some Chopin, I think…" I began with _Fantasy on Polish Airs_, revelling in being able to play my own instrument after weeks of not being able to. I'd really missed it. My eyes always close when I play – stupid, but it happens anyway. When the music filled the apartment, I could see some of it as the sounds echoed off the walls – enough to get the general idea of its size, anyway. It works much better if the sounds are high-frequency, but my hearing's sensitive enough so that it doesn't have to be.

By the time I'd finished _Fantasy_, as well as another two Chopin pieces, some Mozart and a Beethoven, they'd almost finished moving my things in. When I took my hands away from the keys, my fingers were aching slightly with lack of practise, but everyone in the apartment began clapping. I liked it; the sound of applause was a higher frequency than the music, so it was more helpful to me in mapping out the apartment. When they stopped, I had a better idea of where it was I was living.

When the movers left, I found the phone – on the top of the piano, right where it should be – and dialled my brother's number. The clock had just chimed five times, so it would be ten pm back home. Not too late, and after a few rings Ben picked up. "What?"

I smiled; he always answered the phone like that. "Hi, Ben. It's me."

"Oh hi, Ria. You moved in?"

"Yeah, movers just left. Just remind me, which case did you pack my suit and stuff in?"

There was a pause. "The big one with the ridges. But you're not going out tonight are you?"

"No, but I need to do a recon, so I need the equipment. Don't know what the apartment looks like yet."

"Ria, I'm still not sure about this," he said. "Doesn't Gotham already have a vigilante protecting it?"

"We've had this conversation, Ben," I reminded him. "I can help – that means I have to. It doesn't matter that they already have Batman; they could have a hundred Batmen. I still have to do this."

There was a rush of static as he sighed, and I decided a little teasing was in order. "Besides, if you've done your job properly it's not as though I'll be in any danger."

"My equipment is perfect!" he shot back. "I've got another three patent pending now. Those gadgets are going to make me a fortune!"

"Is that all you care about?" I asked. "Those gadgets could save people's lives."

Ben was a computer programmer for a small software company that designed software specifically for people with disabilities, like me. I'd be the last person to admit it, but Ben was smart. Ridiculously so, and he could have been making so much more money than he did – the amount of time he actually spent doing work was minimal. The rest of the time he was an inventor – he'd come up with at least ten devices that had certainly made my life easier, as well as a few that enabled me to lead my double life.

All the cases had been taken up to the master bedroom, so I made my way up there quickly. Jasper followed me, hoping that I'd lead him to the box that contained all his toys, but quickly losing interest when I made no move toward the correct-smelling box.

Opening the case, I reached in and picked up the soft leather of my suit. Ben kept telling me I needed to invest in Kevlar, but it just wasn't viable. I didn't have the money, for a start, and what would a blind concert pianist need Kevlar for anyway? Too many questions. Besides, I could hear fingers moving on triggers; I knew when to dodge. Another thing that I'd been blessed with. Fast reflexes had definitely helped with my martial arts training.

The suit is tight, and I'm told black, covering my whole body apart from the inevitable symbol on my chest. Incorporated into that symbol is the sonar system my brother designed for me; it sends- well, you all know what sonar does, don't you? It's connected to my ear piece. It isn't hard to fake an American accent, so with that and my mask, I figured there stood little chance of me being recognised in Gotham.

By the time I'd put that away, along with my weapon, it was night, and I was hungry. Remembering that I'd heard the sounds of a convenience store a little way down the street, and since it was only about seven pm, I decided that even Gotham couldn't be that dangerous. Knowing that Jasper hated the dark, I left him in the apartment, taking my cane instead. Within five minutes, I'd been proven wrong. Gotham really _was _that dangerous.

I'd gotten no further than fifty wards from the apartment before I heard several heartbeats round the corner. They picked up when they saw me, and then there was the metal _snick _of switchblades popping out. I sighed, hoping that I wouldn't have to kick ass at this point. Plus, without my sonar, there was always the chance I might miss something and get hurt.

"Hand over the purse, lady, and no one gets hurt."

I tightened my grip on my purse. "I'd really rather not."

There was an infinitesimal pause before one of them made another sound; a grunting sort of laugh. There were three of them, but only two knives. I thought the other one held some kind of blunt object in his hands – something made out of wood, definitely. He slapped it into the palm of his hand – the sound was unmistakably wood.

"Last chance, bitch. Give me the purse."

I refused again. "No."

They all took one step forward before suddenly, I heard a new heartbeat…_dropping down?!_ Reflexively, my head went up in time to hear the rush of air over fabric, then one of my would-be attackers collapsed with a groan of pain. I took a cautious step backward. This, then, had to be the Batman. Unfortunately, in my haste to get out of hitting range, I'd forgotten that stepping backward would lead me to step on the foot of the man behind me. I heard his breathing just before he lashed out; the knife that would have gone into my ribcage instead went through the leather of my purse. I drove my elbow backward into his solar plexus, and he doubled over with an "ooph" of pain.

That was all he had time for; there was another rustling of fabric and a shock of air passed me. I wasn't entirely sure what happened next – but the man with the wooden weapon moved, apparently marginally faster than Batman thought he would. Faster than I thought he would or could move, I heard the air rushing over the weapon as he swung it through the air – and then winced when it connected with skull. Not mine, but Batman's. I had to hand it to him, he didn't make a sound, and when the last attacker crumpled, as far as I could tell he was still standing. His breathing was settled into quick, steady bursts, but was quickly slowing. I could still make out the faint raggedness to it – he was definitely hurt.

I jumped when he spoke – I don't know what I was expecting, but his voice did have a touch of the animal about it; low, harsh and almost feral. Obviously put on, since anyone who spoke like that all the time would have a permanent sore throat.

"Are you alright?"

I nodded and swallowed. "Yes. But you're not; I heard him hit you."

There was a faint touch of amusement in his words, as well as the pain. "I've had worse."

"I'm sure you have," I answered. Again acting on reflex, I reached out. I just about touched his face; feeling both mask and exposed jaw. They were both warm and wet with blood. "But you're still bleeding."

"Where do you live?" he said.

I blinked, then realised that he was, after all, Batman. He just wanted me safely at home so that he didn't have to spend the entire night babysitting me. "On the corner," I said, pointing behind me. "In the penthouse at the top of the building."

"Then go home. This city's not safe in darkness."

I raised an eyebrow, thinking about pointing out that I really wouldn't know the difference, but thought better of it. "Alright, but come back with me. You're hurt, and I have a first aid kit. You can't stay out here bleeding that much."

"Like I said; I've had worse," he repeated, irritation in his voice now.

Without thinking, I put one hand on my hip. "I don't care if you've been blown up before; I can't in all good conscience just let you leave injured."

He was _definitely _laughing at me this time. "Fine. Hold on."

Before I could ask 'to what' and 'why', there was an arm around my waist, and suddenly we were leaving the ground. The sensation was so unfamiliar that I let out a tiny, extraordinarily embarrassing squeak. Some kind of grappling hook, obviously, since even Batmen couldn't actually fly.

When my feet touched solid ground again, I let go of him quickly. "Where are we?"

"The helipad outside your apartment," he answered.

"I only have a key for the elevator," I said. "How do we get in?"

His feet walked away, and there was another small sound of metal on metal, then twisting. A lock pick. The glass door creaked slightly as it opened. Somehow I'd managed to keep hold of my cane, so felt my way through the door, following Batman's heartbeat. "Sit down," I said. "I'll be back in a second."

The squeaking of leather indicated that he'd done as asked, and I went quickly to the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and taking out the small rectangular box. As I went to move out of the bathroom, I heard the soft clicking of claws on the floor and a low down, slightly faster heartbeat. I reached down to pat Jasper's head – but he wasn't there, instead heading toward Batman. I groaned, knowing that unless he was with me at the time of meeting someone new, Jasper's reaction wasn't normally friendly.

Taking the first aid kit with me, I hurried out of the bathroom, only to stop in surprise. Apparently I'd been wrong about my dog – there was no sounds of any growling or aggravation from either human or canine. I made my way to their two heartbeats, sitting opposite Batman on the couch.

"Lie down, Jasper."

"I think your dog likes me," Batman commented.

"Lucky you," I smirked, opening the box at my side. "Alright…I'm just going to remove your-"

Even before I touched the cowl, he'd already gripped my hands tightly and jerked away. "No."

"I have to," I returned. He said nothing, and didn't let go of my hands. I gave an impatient sigh. "No matter, I'm sure the papers will be interested to know I had Batman in my apartment anyway. I assume that is what you're worried about?"

"Yes."

"Right. If you take the mask off, I'll run along to the media with your identity. It'll go great right up until the point where they ask me what you look like," I replied pointedly.

He stilled, and then slowly let go of my hands. There was the sound of rubber on leather as he removed the mask. I took this as an assent and reached out gently, not wanting to poke him in the eye. The fingers of my right hand met cheek; warm, roughened slightly from stubble. My left hand I moved a little higher in an attempt to find his hairline. I did meet his eyelids, and drew back quickly – more from the sensation than fear of hurting him. My fingertips brushing across his eyelids was too…intimate, too much like a caress. "Sorry," I blurted.

"It's alright," he said, voice still hoarse, but slightly softer.

I swallowed and tried again with more success, this time getting an eyebrow. I traced along it softly until I came to his right temple. There was a fairly sizable lump forming there, as well as the stickiness of drying blood. Quite a lot of it. "Ouch," I said. "What did he hit you with, a cricket bat?"

He shook his head ever so slightly. "Baseball."

"Same difference," I smiled, reaching into the first aid box to find an antiseptic wipe. Having locating the square packet, I tore it open quickly. "This is going to sting," I warned.

Some things are true for all men, no matter how tough they are or whether or not they dress up in a batsuit. Such as they'll never willingly ask for directions. Or read the instructions before fiddling with a new gadget. Or not make a fuss when they're in very little pain.

To his credit, Batman only drew in a quiet hiss as I wiped the blood away from his wound carefully. I rolled my eyes and continued. "Men are such babies."

"It was big baseball bat," he growled.

I grinned. "I'm sure it was." Once it was clean, I unwrapped a square band-aid and put it carefully in the right place. "Done. I'd say it's probably best not to the mask back on, but then that would make getting back to the belfry difficult."

"It's a cave," he said briefly.

He got up, heading toward the helipad. He moved more quietly than any other man I'd ever heard, but still audibly. Added to the fact that no amount of Kevlar could block his heartbeat. "I guess we're even then," I said just before he opened the door.

He said nothing, and his heartbeat faded surprisingly quickly. I sat back against the cushions with a sigh, thinking. At least I'd always know when he was leaving. It wasn't the way I'd planned to meet Batman, but an encounter was an encounter. Of course, I'd have to pretend to meet him all over again as Echo, but at least he wouldn't be saving me. Echo didn't need saving. _Who knows? I might even get to save him. _

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**A/N: So, what did you think? Review please!**


	3. Echo

**A/N: Now, a lot of people have commented on the similarity between my story and Daredevil – its NOT unintentional. I said in the disclaimer I own nothing except the character! And also I've gotten a few things wrong with her being blind, HOWEVER, I now have my wonderful, wonderful beta to correct my mistakes – so thank you thank you thank you to Thought, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter Three – Echo**

The sound of a coffee cup being put down on the boardroom table woke me, along with Lucius Fox's slightly amused voice. "Late night, Mr Wayne?"

Blinking rapidly, I picked up the cup and drained the scalding liquid in three gulps, uncaring of the temperature. I needed caffeine more than I cared about the burn in my throat. "Five am," I finally answered. "Four attempted rapes, three muggings, two armed robberies, a drug bust and an attempted murder." Still, busy nights weren't so bad – yeah they were more tiring, but at least I felt like I'd accomplished something. Fighting actual criminals was satisfying; fighting the corruption in the city's judiciary system was harder, especially since Dent…no. Best not to think about that. That only led to thinking about Rachel.

Fox pointed at the abrasion on my temple. "And that?"

"Thug got lucky." I wouldn't have risked being seen with it, but thanks to whatever magic Alfred had worked, it wasn't all that noticeable. But then Fox was good at noticing the unnoticeable. Even so, had it not been important that I see him as soon as possible, I probably wouldn't have left the manor for a while until it had healed fully. Getting to the point, I stood and joined him at the window. "The car needs to be faster."

"You want me to get on the phone to Ferrari?"

The corner of my mouth curled up before I elaborated. "The sun was up by the time I got back, and in a few weeks it'll be rising earlier. I'll be too easy to follow." Fox had come up with a new design for the car – it still black and virtually indestructible, but sleeker, longer, less squat than the original tumbler.

He absorbed that with his usual thoughtfulness, then nodded. "Alright. I'll see what I can do. I'll need access to the car, though," he added as I walked away.

I pointed to the pile of documents at the end of the board-table. "I'm sure you'll need me to sign something in that. Come to the manor later. Alfred will be glad to catch up with an old friend."

His chuckle followed me out of the room. "I'm sure he will."

Throwing a grin carelessly at Jessica, I left, heading for the elevator. Mercifully, it was empty, and I took the opportunity to gingerly prod the lump on my temple. Most of the swelling had already gone down; it was the purple bruising that was the problem. Putting my hands in my pockets, I slouched against the wall, thinking about the blind woman last night. I couldn't get her face out of my head. It wasn't the fact that she was good-looking – she'd been pretty, but not particularly beautiful, not compared to some of the women I've dated. No, it had been her strangely fearless demeanour that fascinated me, the determination in her unseeing green-eyed gaze. Getting mugged is pretty terrifying for anyone; if you couldn't see what was happening I imagine it would be far more so. But she hadn't been scared of the thugs, and she hadn't been scared of me. I smirked. And she lived in my apartment.

Walking through the lobby, I resolved to at least find out her name. Alfred and the car were waiting outside, the door already open. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Afternoon, Alfred."

On the leather of the backseat, the day's newspapers were waiting. I picked up the top one, unfolding it to look at the headline. Oil prices rising another 1.5 percent. "Home, Master Wayne?"

"Mmm." Next paper, the _Gazette_. Headline and leading article about the new wind-powered power plant Wayne Enterprises was building just outside Gotham. The reporter who'd written it didn't seem all that impressed. Some people were never happy.

Once the broadsheets were done, I moved onto tabloids. Realistically, if anyone was going to come up with a theory of Bruce Wayne being Batman, it would be the tabloids. This week I was lucky – and apparently engaged to the princess of Denmark.

Chuckling, I passed the paper to Alfred. He glanced at it and smiled. "Congratulations are in order then."

"It would seem so. Was there anything else, Alfred?"

"An invitation to the Mayor's ball in two weeks. And you still haven't confirmed if you'll be attending the opening of Symphony Hall. That's in three days."

"Yeah, I'll go. Haven't been seen in public for at least two days."

"And will be requiring a date for the evening, sir?"

"Probably. Though I really should invite my fiancée."

"I believe the princess has returned to Europe," Alfred grinned. It faded as he carried on. "But I'm sure I can procure whichever socialite is flavour of the month."

I suppressed the urge to wince. Alfred was the only person who could make me feel like a naughty kid again. He'd never made any effort to disguise his distaste for the airheaded gold-diggers I 'dated', though he understood why they were necessary. Sometimes I didn't.

Now that the manor was rebuilt, it took slightly longer to get home from the office. Enough time to fall asleep. Not that I'd planned to do that, but I woke with a jolt when Alfred switched the engine off. "Damn it."

"Will you be patrolling again tonight, sir?" he asked me as we went inside. I headed for the staircase, sleep becoming more and more alluring with every passing second.

"No choice. Without the signal there's no way of knowing if Batman's needed or not." I turned at the top. "And Fox will be coming at some point to have a look at the car."

"I take it you don't mean the Aston?"

"Goodnight, Alfred."

---

"Are you sure?"

"Ben, I'm going to put the phone down if you ask me that again," I said lightly.

"But don't you think tonight is really soon? I mean-"

"You'd think a year from now was really soon," I told him firmly. "And besides, any longer and I'll get rusty. And in this city I can't afford to. Just talk me through the modifications."

"Ok, fine," he sighed. "With the sonar I've improved it; the bursts are of higher frequency and they're faster. You should be able to build up a clearer picture of up to about fifty feet away. Your hearing should take care of the rest."

"Right. Anything else?"

"Nunchaku holster I've moved slightly; it's a thigh holster now." Nunchakus – when they're used correctly – are silent, and utterly deadly. In the strictest sense, I don't use it correctly, and the master who trained me always lamented that fact that I couldn't use it quietly. Though that's not quite true. I could use it without sound, but I like noisy weapons. They let me know they're coming, and where they're going.

"Right, and the grapple?"

"Where it always was. Hook on your belt."

"Thanks, Ben."

"Just don't get yourself killed."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," I said in a quelling fashion before disconnecting the call. The clock chimed ten pm, and I pushed down the small flutter of nervousness – as well as the excitement. Getting emotional about this was the worst possible thing I could do.

It was easier once I had the suit on. Echo wasn't emotional, or vulnerable. With the mask that covered the top of my face, complete with opaque lenses, Ilaria Simmons ceased to exist. Putting a hand up to the symbol on my chest, I activated the sonar, then fitted the corresponding earpiece.

Immediately, it began firing out pulses of sound, too high for normal humans to hear. At my feet, I heard Jasper whine slightly, and patted his head comfortingly. "It's ok, Jasper. I'll be gone in a minute."

Moving to the doors to the helipad, I opened them, leaving them unlocked. Unless you had a helicopter or a grappling hook it was impossible to get in. Once outside, I stood on the helipad for a moment, just listening. Every city has its own heartbeat, its own soundtrack. With London it's bells – there are steeples and churches everywhere. New York the constant car horns, Paris a sort of fashionable hum. Gotham…it's death. Sirens and gunfire. For a moment I wondered how Batman thought he could possibly do this by himself. It was a mammoth task.

A scream sounded not too far away, breaking into my reflections. I swivelled to pinpoint the sound, then fired down to the ground. It didn't take me long to get there, and when I did, it was to find two women and four men – three armed with knives and one with a gun, about to rape them. I forced the rage down, let it fuel my mind rather than heat my blood. Jumping off a low roof, I managed to land on the one with the gun. At the sudden flurry of movement that followed, the two women started screaming again. I didn't waste time telling them to shut up, instead grabbing the man's wrist and delivering a swift but powerful kick to his side. Unable to withstand being pulled in two directions, his arm was pulled out of its socket. He let out a scream of pain; I took advantage of the distraction of hit the pressure point on his neck to knock him out. I let go as he went down, turning my attention to the other three.

I broke the wrist of one, the sternum of another. The last one got lucky and grabbed both my wrists. A snap kick upward knocked out at least a dozen of his teeth, and knocked him off balance, but not unconscious. Still, it was enough to knock the stab that would probably have severed my femoral artery off target. Instead, the blade scratched along my shin, not quite breaking the leather. Another punch to his temple ensured he was out this time.

The two women I'd rescued both stared at me. "You- you're not Batman," one of them whispered.

I almost smirked. "And you're perceptive." Without further ado, I raised my arm and fired.

Disappointingly, I was out in the city from ten until three, and didn't run into Batman once. I did prevent another rape and a few muggings, and still got the warm fuzzies from that. But still…I wanted to see how the Bat would react to having another person patrolling his city.

It wasn't until ten to four, with the sounds of the first birds arriving, that it finally happened.

I'd caught the sounds of an armed robbery – lots of 'put your hands up' and 'give me the money' going on not too far from where I was. I fired down, and got there only a few seconds after the swish of material that the night before had signalled Batman's arrival. From the amounts of footsteps I could hear – and the swearing – there were nine of them, and one of him. A faint temptation ran through me to just let him handle them – I was certain he could – but I decided to help. It took me five seconds to get into the building. In that time, Batman had taken down three of them. I took down another three – and then found myself in a chokehold. He knew what he was doing. If I moved even a centimetre, his fingers were perfectly positioned at my carotid artery to make me pass out.

"Who are you?"

"Let me go and I'll tell you."

He did, slowly. I also decided moving slowly was a good move, and turned to face him. The sonar pulsed, and I got my first good look at his face. From what there was to see – the mask froze his face into a severe expression, and his exposed mouth was set into a grim line. It was no wonder everyone's heartbeats picked up around him. I could feel mine doing the same thing. "Echo."

"What?"

"My name. It's Echo."

"Your real name," he demanded.

"You first."

"Why are you here?"

"The same reason you are. I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need help," he growled.

"I didn't say _you _did," I replied. "But this city needs all the help it can get."

He couldn't, and didn't, argue with that. I turned my head as I heard more birds wake and begin calling to one another. Pigeons this time, which meant dawn couldn't be far off. "It's almost morning. I'm leaving."

I turned, and he caught my wrist. "I better not see you out here again."

I wrenched my arm out of his grip. "I think you should count on it."

---

**A/N: Review please!**


	4. In No Condition

**A/N: Right, if I got the Italian wrong then sorry. Blame freetranslation . com lol. And thank you again to Thought for the beta. **

**Chapter Four – In No Condition**

Every muscle in my body ached.

Groaning, I got out of bed and hobbled to the shower. It had really been far too long since I'd worked myself that hard, and my body seemed determined to remind me of that fact. The hot water pounding down on my muscles felt wonderful, massaging out all the kinks until I felt marginally more human. Last night I'd been exhilarated, but exhausted, and called Ben, let him know I was alright and then just fallen into bed without bothering to pull on pyjamas. Idly, I wondered what the time was. I bit my lip, thinking. _Hope it isn't too late. _I had a rehearsal to go to this afternoon – the new Symphony Hall was opening tomorrow evening, and of course I'd be performing, but if the time was after two then I was already late. I dressed quickly, then made my way down to the kitchen intending to grab some very late breakfast. My cell phone ringing put a stop to that – it was Tim, one of the violinists I'd become friends with since moving to Gotham.

"Hi, Ilaria, I'm running late. If Scavron asks, I'm in the bathroom, ok?"

Leonard Scavron was the conductor of the orchestra, and ran an extremely tight ship. "Tim, I'm not even out of the apartment yet. What time is it, anyway?"

"Um…one fifty seven," he answered. "How are you not out the apartment?"

"Late night," I said. "But I'm leaving now. Ish. Tell Scavron…you know what, don't tell him anything. I'll just go diva on him if he kicks up a fuss."

He laughed. "Ok, see you in a bit."

"Bye."

True to Tim's words, the clock chimed just as I put down the phone. Letting out a curse in Italian that would have had my mother washing my mouth out with soap, I gulped down a glass of orange juice and called Jasper. Within five minutes we were in the elevator and walking out onto the street. The concierge of the building was an extremely efficient man called Bill – about forty I guessed, of average height and a little overweight – and he already had a cab waiting for me. "Here you are, Miss Simmons."

I smiled. "Thank you, Bill." By the time I arrived at Symphony Hall, it was half past two. I could imagine Scavron going nuts almost as soon as I walked through the door. I almost threw money at the cabbie and bolted out of the car and up the steps, ignoring my protesting muscles. Predictably, I was yelled at as soon as my foot touched the floor of the concert hall. It didn't really bother me – at least Scavron didn't treat me as though I was too delicate to withstand a telling-off. Uttering a thousand apologies, I sat at the piano Jasper automatically led me to, patting his head in thanks, telling him to sit. With another "_finally_", Scavron began, and the rest of the orchestra followed suit, the sound swelling up and out to fill the hall.

It was a Rachmaninoff, piano concerto number five. Thankfully I managed not to mess up, the liquid notes of my instrument floating upward to the gods. Acoustically this was a good hall for music – not so good for me, since the echoes weren't particularly strong. After a few minutes the strings came in, then others, and before long we were all working together, our instruments different but complementary. I think I managed to convince Scavron that he shouldn't give up on me quite yet, since I surprised even myself by performing the whole piece flawlessly. Once that was done, we had the rest of the concert to go through. The concert tomorrow night wouldn't be too long, since it was a gala, so there would be a ball too, no doubt. With hopefully someone else providing the music. The concert started at seven, the ball at nine.

Still, Scavron insisted we go through the entire thing three times, so it was after six by the time we finished, and I was starving. When he said we could all go home, there was a great sigh of relief from us all. I hurried the goodbyes and rushed out again, since Charlie and I had dinner plans. I called her as I was hailing a cab, telling her to simply meet me at Luciano's, this tiny little family owned restaurant that we'd found – in the Narrows, but the lasagne was worth the risk of getting mugged.

I arrived a few minutes before she did, and went inside to get a table. Somehow deciding to come once a month had turned into eating here at least twice a week. In consequence, the owner knew me pretty well by now. She really reminded me of my grandmother – the totally clichéd image that everyone has of the typical Italian matriarch, big and warm and comforting, but with a tongue like a whip and a voice to match. Clichés have to start somewhere, right? Her name was Giovanna, and so far it seemed to be her life's mission to fatten up every customer that walked through the door. Apparently my size ten figure was anorexic. The fact that I argued back in Italian was helpful, since to Giovanna, no Italian in their right mind refused food, and I'd been officially declared 'sane'. Personally I dared anyone to refuse Giovanna's food.

She was also trying to set me up with her grandson. Unfortunately, I wasn't all that interested in dating a kid ten years younger than me. And from the way he stuttered when he spoke to me, Alonso was as embarrassed by his grandmother as I was.

"Ciao!" I smiled, going in.

I was immediately enfolded into a crushing hug. "Mia piccolo fiore!" She kissed my cheeks and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Are you on your own?"

"No, my friend should be here soon," I replied.

Her voice peaked with interest. "Oh? A male friend?"

I grinned. "No, Giovanna, a female friend." I hadn't really been in Gotham long enough to make any male 'friends'. Besides, at the moment, it would be far too troublesome – trying to conceal the fact that most nights I'd be out in Gotham, and I really couldn't be bothered. I was still ridiculously tired, but at the same time exhilarated. Of course, Batman hadn't seemed to share my enthusiasm about my being there, but he'd come around. I hoped. Whatever his reaction, and even if it continued to be hostile, Gotham was a big city. I probably wouldn't run in to him that often, and almost certainly wouldn't tonight. Even if I wanted to.

The door to the restaurant opened again, a cold breeze coming in with it. I shivered, but smiled when I recognised Charlie's voice. "I'm sorry I'm late!" she said. "The new exhibition doesn't open for another five months, and yet Claire is still on my case about it anyway."

Claire was Charlie's version of Scavron, the owner of a gallery downtown. "How so?" I asked as we sat down.

"She wants to know why I only paint portraits, and threatened to shut the whole thing down if she didn't have any landscapes to, and I quote, 'break up the monotony'," she finished in a sour tone.

"'Break up the monotony'?" I repeated. "Who the hell does she think she is? She does realise that she kind of depends on artists like you for a living, right?"

Interrupting, Giovanna came back over. "Now, here's your usual wine," she said, "though if it was me, I'd be drinking red tonight. It'll go better with the food."

I frowned. "We haven't ordered yet."

She laughed. "No, but you're having the quotidiano speciale of course. I made it with you in mind."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Really. I'm going to feed you until neither of you can move," she declared proudly.

"Lei può provare," I grinned. "And anyway, I'm not drinking tonight."

"I thought you said you'd had a hellish day," Charlie commented.

"I have, but I just don't feel like drinking," I shrugged. A total lie – I really did want a glass of wine, but if I was planning on going out again tonight then alcohol was the last thing I needed. I was already tired; any wine and I'd be in no condition to patrol.

---

I was in no condition to patrol. I knew that. I was still planning on going out tonight anyway.

The elevator down from the manor stopped, and Alfred stepped out of it, carrying a silver tray. He put it down on a space by the monitor bank that he'd insisted I clear, and took the lid off. It smelled delicious, but I'd conditioned myself long ago to avoid all unnecessary temptations. "I told you so," he said by way of greeting.

"Told me what?" I asked absently, replaying for about the millionth time the thirty seconds of footage I actually had. It hadn't told me anything new since five am this morning. Now it was only frustrating, since curiosity had faded at about seven. I hadn't slept in more than thirty hours, or eaten, not feeling the compulsion to do either. This problem needed solving, and quickly.

"Told you that once the manor was rebuilt you wouldn't sleep in it."

I didn't bother with a reply, and Alfred looked up at the far-left screen, watching the clip that was on replay. "She doesn't look like the other copycats," he noted.

I frowned. No, she didn't, and that was what was bothering me so much. She hadn't acted like one either, definitely not looked at me with the kind of hero-worship that the others did. Though the hero-worship had certainly dropped off since I'd officially become a public menace. Echo had been almost…scornful. It seemed to be my week for meeting women who surprised me. "I don't think she is."

"No gun?"

"No. She had some sort of weapon, but she didn't use it. Didn't look like she needed to. She used aikido with obvious proficiency. Said her name was 'Echo'."

"Did she say what she was doing?"

"Helping," I replied.

"Just 'helping'?"

"Just helping."

"Helping you?"

"Helping Gotham. She was quite clear on that point."

"But you don't believe that," Alfred said assuredly. "Why would anyone have the same idea as you, after all?"

"You make me sound like the most hardened of cynics, Alfred."

"Oh good. Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," he grinned. Sobering, he continued. "So if she's not here to help, your next guess would be…?"

"That she's either a criminal in her own right or working for one."

"Ah. Well try not to be too late tonight. You've got the opening gala of Symphony Hall to attend tomorrow evening."

I got up and headed toward the cabinet I kept my suit in. Alfred's voice stopped me. "And you're certainly not going anywhere until you've eaten your dinner."

I raised an eyebrow. "Does that include eating all my vegetables?"

"Only if you want dessert."

I chuckled and sat back down. "Yes, sir."

---

**A/N: Short chapter, I know, but I have finger-ache. Next one will be longer, I promise. Review please!**


	5. Ilaria Simmons, Meet Bruce Wayne

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait! You may berate me in your review if you wish *hangs head*. Once again, a million thanks for my beta, Thought, for helping me out. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Five – Ilaria Simmons, Meet Bruce Wayne**

I didn't run into Batman that night. But then that was to be expected; in a city this big – Hell, in a city with this much crime – I'd be lucky if I met him once a month. I did, however, meet several thieves, two would-be rapists and a drug dealer. Since I hadn't been in Gotham that long, I couldn't tell yet if that was counted as a slow night or not. I was gratified that at least I didn't ache quite so much when I woke up this time, even though I hadn't been asleep that long.

The phone ringing woke me, and I picked it up groggily. "Hello?"

"You ready?"

I recognised Charlie's voice, but not her words. "Huh?"

"You're not, are you?"

"For what?"

"Shopping? For your dress? For tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"The concert, the ball! Come on, Ria!"

Awareness crept in to my sleep-addled brain. "Oh right. Ball. Shopping. Where're you?"

"I'm downstairs," she said, then sighed heavily. "You're still in bed, aren't you?"

"Maybe…"

"Ok, I'm going to Starbucks, getting coffee and then coming back. That gives you fifteen minutes to get your arse out of bed and dress. So hurry up."

"Right," I replied, rubbing my eyes. "And Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"Make mine a double espresso."

Ten minutes later I was showered and almost dressed, pulling on a wrap-around dress. It was quicker than trying to locate where in the hell I'd put my clean laundry. Generally I didn't wear dresses, since I practically lived in my jeans, but for now a dress would have to do. The phone rang again a few seconds after I'd slid a pair of boots on.

"I'm downstairs, let me in."

I buzzed my best friend in, and then went downstairs, crossing into the kitchen to the corner cupboard. Jasper came trotting over behind me, nudging at my legs. I laughed at the tickly sensation as I pulled his food out of the cupboard. "Alright, alright. Keep your fur on."

I knelt down and located the food bowl, then poured the dry food into the metal container. "Eat." I'd barely stood up before he dived in. Smiling, I stroked his back momentarily and then moved out of the kitchen as the elevator dinged. "Oh good, you're dressed."

"You don't have to sound so shocked," I said, mock-hurt.

"Here's your coffee," she said, putting it in my hand. I immediately tore the lid off. "Careful, it's really…" I'd gulped the scalding liquid down in three swallows, "…hot," she finished finally. "So…late night?"

"Er, kinda," I confessed, gesturing vaguely toward the piano. "I lost track of time."

"Yeah, you do look tired," she agreed. "You've got bags under your eyes."

"Oh thanks," I commented.

She laughed. "I must be cruel only to be kind."

"Yeah yeah, alright. I don't suppose you brought any food with you, did you, Shakespeare?"

There was the rustling of a paper bag as she pulled something out. "As a matter of fact I did buy a muffin…"

"Oooh gimme." I snatched for it, but only managed to catch her wrist as she moved it out of my grasp.

"_Which _you can eat on the move," she said. "Now come on, it's ten already, and if we don't get you a dress at some point today then you'll be going to the ball naked."

"Thank you, fairy godmother."

"Which is it, am I a fairy godmother or Shakespeare?"

"Both," I said obscurely. "And anyway, I'm ready, so shall we?"

She stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "You haven't brushed your hair today, have you? You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backward."

"I could have been going for the bed-head look."

"Were you?"

"…no."

"Well then."

It took another fifteen minutes, but finally we were out the door, me munching on the muffin that Charlie had finally relinquished. "So I was thinking we'd get a cab uptown and hit the boutiques along Maynard Avenue-"

"Maynard Avenue?" I repeated incredulously. Maynard Avenue was to Gotham what Fifth Avenue was to New York. Only slightly more expensive. "I'm spending enough money for a dress, not a small country."

"You do realise that all the women there are going to be wearing Dior and Versace and God only knows what else, don't you?" she asked.

"So what? A dress is a dress whether you spend a hundred or a thousand dollars on it."

"How much are you planning on spending?"

I shrugged. "Well no more than two hundred. Anything more would just be ridiculous."

"Right…and when the socialites start bitching about you behind your back?" she pointed out.

"C'mon, Charlie, _socialites_? Why the hell would the opinion of brain-dead bimbos who have never contributed to society matter to me?"

"You really are a snob sometimes aren't you?" she asked good-naturedly.

"I am not!" I protested.

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are."

"Not."

We were silent for a few seconds, then both burst out giggling. "Come on," I said, finally sobering. "I have to be at Symphony Hall before the concert starts."

It didn't take us long to find a dress once we'd gone into a suitable department store. It had been no more than five minutes before Charlie gasped and rushed from my side in a whirl of air. I sighed, and Jasper led me over to where she was, cooing over whichever dress she'd just picked up.

"Perfect for you," she declared.

"Really."

"Really!" she enthused. She grabbed my arm. "Come on, you have _got _to try this on."

Amazingly, it fitted. Perfectly. "I think there's a quota you know," I said absently, smoothing the creases out. It felt lovely – I doubted it was actual silk, but it felt like it, the light beading on it going down the sleeves and along the hem. "The number of perfectly-fitting clothes you're allowed to find a year."

"Show me," she requested.  

I pulled back the curtain. "Voila." The fabric was almost seductive against my skin.

She gasped in an overdramatic way. "_Ilaria_! You look beautiful," she told me.

"Thanks. Right, I'm going to take this off and then we can get out of here." I changed quickly, and then stepped out of the cubicle. "Well that didn't take long, did it? Do you think-"

Suddenly an unfamiliar woman interrupted politely. "Excuse me, but…are you Charlotte Grant? The artist?"

"Um, yes I am," Charlie said. She sounded surprised to have been recognised – it didn't happen to her as often as it happened to me, since it was more frequent for her work to be recognised rather than herself.

The other woman laughed nervously. "You probably don't remember me; we've only met once, at your last exhibition."

"Oh yes!" Charlie said, her voice now peaking with recognition. "I remember, you bought the-"

"The _Animal Soul_, yes," the woman said. "It's hanging on my wall at home."

"Yes, I remember your husband wasn't all that keen," Charlie mused.

The woman laughed. "Oh well that's just Jim, always counting the pennies."

Charlie's voice turned apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid your name escapes me."

"Barbara," she said immediately. "Barbara Gordon."

That caught my attention, and I cleared my throat softly, a gentle cue that I hoped my best friend would pick up. She did. "Well it's wonderful to re-meet you, Barbara," she said. "This is Ilaria Simmons, she's an old friend of mine."

The wife of the police commissioner shook my hand; her grip was warm and firm. "Pleasure," she said.

I smiled. "Likewise."

"The pianist of the symphony orchestra I take it?" she asked.

I nodded. "Unfortunately yes."

"Jim and I actually have tickets to tonight's gala, so I expect this won't be the only time we meet today," she said.

"I look forward to it," I replied. "You'll have to let me know how many times I slip up once we get to the ball."

"I'm sure you won't," she said, "but good luck anyway."

"Thank you." I decided I liked her – she seemed to be a very warm, genuine person. It was only a first impression, of course, and perhaps not to be trusted completely, but it's not hard to differentiate between truth and lies when you focus on people's voices. The difference is subtle, but it's there. It's normally a slight tremble, and at the end of sentences their voices will go a little higher. The more practised the liar, the more difficult it is to tell. But by the same token, people who lie a lot often get overconfident, and then I could tell from the utter smoothness of their tone.

We paid for the dress and left the store, then had brunch at a small cafe not far from the department store. "Got anything else to do today?" Charlie asked me.

I shook my head. "Not particularly. Jasper needs walking don't you, boy?"

His tail thumped twice on the ground. "So park then?" my friend asked.

"Sounds good to me," I agreed, draining the last of my orange juice. "Come on, Jasper."

The weather was mild with a light drizzle - the really annoying, misty sort of vapour that isn't quite rain but still manages to get you soaked through anyway. Naturally, Charlie kept up a string of muttered complaints for the entire trip around the park. I giggled all the way.

Eventually - "Not a moment too soon," Charlie muttered - we left the park and made it back to my apartment. I crossed to the downstairs bathroom and got a couple of towels out, then tossed one of them to Charlie. "Thanks." We dried off, and I made coffee. "What time do you have to be at Symphony Hall for?" she asked.

Charlie wasn't coming to the concert tonight, since it was sold-out. "Six," I answered. "Starts at seven." Showering and getting ready would probably take me about two hours, and it was about one now.

"Want me to look after Jasper?" she asked.

I had been planning to take him with me, but when Scavron had heard this plan, he'd blown a gasket. Apparently the idea of expecting Gotham's elite to mix with a dog was ridiculous. Eventually I gave in because it was easier to, so tonight I'd be taking my cane instead.

I smiled into my coffee. "He'll be fine here, you know."

 "I know, but I'll be lonely otherwise," she replied.

"Oh my God you need a date. Seriously, a Friday night and _dog-_sitting is your best option?"

She was rolling her eyes; I heard it in her voice. "Yes, I am well aware of the fact that I've not gotten laid in months."

I laughed, and drained the last of my coffee. We spent a good portion of the afternoon washing Jasper - not fun for any of us, since my dog had always seemed to have an aversion to soap. Eventually, though, he was clean. As we got him out of the bathtub, Charlie suddenly burst into laughter.

"We just washed your dog in Bruce Wayne's tub!"

---

She stuck around to help me get ready, doing my hair, for which I was grateful. Six pm rolled around faster than I thought it would, and now fully-dressed in my finery, I went downstairs and hailed a cab.

"Symphony Hall please."

Once I'd arrived, I gave up trying to deny the fact I was nervous. It was ridiculous - I could beat criminals to a bloody pulp on a nightly basis, but I got butterflies when faced with playing to the rich and famous.

"Grow up, Ilaria," I muttered under my breath, climbing the steps into the hall.

Time seemed to move far too rapidly after that; one second I was saying hello to Tim, the next the chattering audience had filed in, then the orchestra was going on stage.

It was a heady mix of terror and total excitement that filled my stomach, waiting just off-stage. It always happened in a new place - by tomorrow it would be alright, and I'd be able to perform without a problem. But for tonight, 'apprehensive' didn't even begin to cover how I was feeling.

I heard Scavron announce me, and took a deep breath, then walked out on stage, heading toward the piano. I sat down carefully, then took another deep breath, put my fingers on the keys, and began.

---

It wasn't often I found myself mesmerised.

But it had happened. Classical music concerts, in the past, had been fairly enjoyable, but not anything terribly remarkable. Since the advent of Batman they were more often than not a place I could put my head back and get some sleep while looking as though I was simply enjoying the music. I didn't see any reason why this one wouldn't follow the same pattern. At least, I didn't until she started playing.

I couldn't close my eyes – I'd never seen anyone enjoy what they did so much; there was a slight smile on her face which grew as the music went on. It's true that a smile makes people more attractive; she'd gone from the pretty woman Batman had rescued to a beautiful one within the space of a few minutes.

Though I'd intended to find out who she was before now, the meeting with Echo had driven her out of my head. But sitting there I remembered why I'd wanted to – there was something about her that I couldn't pin down, and that didn't happen to me very often. It wasn't a feeling I was comfortable, either. Since Rachel's death, Batman had pretty much taken over my days and nights. It was easier that way: everything was logical and cold and I could deal with it. Anything illogical I pushed away from me as quickly as possible. I didn't want to dwell on what it was about this woman that fascinated me.

The concert lasted for another two hours, and I don't think I looked at my date once. There were other pieces of course, some in which she didn't even play, but even then I kept staring at her. When it finished, everyone gave a standing ovation, and my date turned to me. I blinked, wondering why I'd not noticed how disturbingly orange she was.

"Can we go dancing now, Brucie?"

I gritted my teeth. _Anything, just stop calling me _Brucie_! _Forcing a grin, I took her arm. "Sure, Shelly. Let's go dancing."

Attached to the hall itself, there was the ballroom, but most importantly, there was a bar. Maybe she'd be slightly less irritating once drunk. Maybe.

It turned out she wasn't less irritating with three and a half strawberry daiquiris in her, she was more. Very high-pitched, and giggly, and gropey, which was the worst of all of them. On the plus side, it was easier to direct her attentions toward someone else once she was that drunk. When everyone migrated to the ballroom, I left Shelly with her fourth cocktail, propping up the bar, trying not to feel guilty. Anyway, I'd raise more eyebrows if I left with the same girl I arrived with, so it gave me the chance to mingle and see if I could get a chance to talk to the pianist.

It wasn't long before I spotted her talking with Barbara Gordon, laughing at something she'd said, with a glass of champagne in one hand and her cane in the other. Knowing that I should be walking in the opposite direction, and this was probably the worst idea I'd had in a long time, I made my way over.

---

Suddenly a rich, alluring scent reached my nose. It was familiar to me, but for a moment I couldn't place it- Then I got it. A cab in the rain. At my side, I felt Barbara's arm brush my sleeve as she stiffened slightly.

Though this time, he did, at least, speak. And he had a nice voice. Deep, smooth, confident. More than a touch arrogant. The voice of a rich man. Not at all unpleasant though. "I don't think I've had the pleasure."

"Ilaria, this is-"

"Bruce Wayne," I interrupted, stretching my hand out.

He took it and rather than shaking it, kissed the back of my hand. His fingers weren't what I was expecting. In my experience, the hands of rich men were the same as politicians; soft. Almost too soft; manicured nails and moisturised skin. His hands weren't like that, they were dry, with a callous at the base of his index finger and another on the ball of his thumb. This was a man who _used _his hands. I wondered what he used them for.

"Have we met?" he asked lightly.

"Almost," I said, gently pulling my hand back. "You hailed a cab for me and a friend a couple of weeks ago. You have to picture me with a dog."

"Oh yes, I think I remember. Though how-" He hit the normal social impasse, and stopped.

I smiled. "I recognised your cologne. It's quite distinctive."

"I hope that's not a polite way of saying I stink," he joked.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Well, I had been warned he flirted with every woman in a fifty-metre radius. "Not at all."

"Well it's nice to meet you properly, Miss…"

"Simmons. Ilaria Simmons."

"You play beautifully," he complimented. "I particularly enjoyed the Beethoven piece."

"Thank you."

"And how are you, Mrs Gordon?" he asked.

"Well, thank you, Mr Wayne."

He turned his attention back to me. "So, Miss Simmons, would you like to dance?"

I half-shrugged inelegantly. "Why not?"

He took my hand again, and led me onto the dancefloor, putting one hand on my waist and drawing me a little closer to him. We began turning gently in a simple waltz to the music, and I became aware of how muscular he was; the shoulder underneath my hand was hard. _I suppose it's not all that surprising_, I thought. People with as much money as Bruce Wayne had probably nothing better to do than pump iron. Besides, a flabby playboy was hardly a good image to present to the media.

"So how long have you been in Gotham?" he asked after a moment.

"Not all that long, a little less than two months," I replied.

"And living in my old penthouse," he commented, his tone light with amusement.

I raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "You really shouldn't ask questions to which you already know the answers, Mr Wayne."

"No, I suppose I shouldn't," he agreed, sounding very unconcerned.

I was rapidly coming to not like Bruce Wayne. Frowning, I said nothing, hoping to discourage further conversation. Apparently he was not a man easily dissuaded. "How are you finding living in America?"

"Actually living anywhere is a little strange for me," I said honestly. "I've been on tour with the London Symphony Orchestra for so long that being settled is a novel experience."

"A good or bad one?"

"Good. I like America, and I'm beginning to like Gotham."

"Only beginning to? Did you not at first?" he asked. It sounded like the first question he'd asked that he was genuinely interested in the answer.

"Well, I'm sure a Gotham citizen in your position can't be ignorant of this city's reputation," I replied.

"You mean the crime rate or having a murderer roaming the streets in a bat costume?"

There was an odd tone to his voice - if I had to guess, then he was making a joke, but there was something a little...odd about his words. And I was slightly irritated. Batman might have been a murderer, but personally I didn't buy it. If he was, then why would he have helped me out the other night? Whoever he was, he was out risking his life every night, while people like Bruce Wayne sat on their absurdly rich arses. "The crime rate," I answered. "Batman doesn't bother me."

That surprised him. "Really? It bothers most people."

"Actually he saved my life the other night," I said coldly. "So that makes him a good man in my book."

"Jim Gordon would probably disagree with you. One good deed doesn't redeem him of everything he's done."

"He saved my life," I repeated simply. "He can't be all bad, whatever he may or may not have done." He was silent for a while then, and I stifled a smile. "Have I shocked you, Mr Wayne?"

"Not shocked, no. Intrigued, maybe. Most people in Gotham are afraid of the possibility that they could run into Batman."

"Does that include you?"

He laughed, but stopped as the music came to an end. I made to move away, but though he lowered the arm around my waist, he didn't let go of my hand. "Miss Simmons, would you like to have dinner with me later in the week?"

My eyebrow shot up in surprise, but I did think about it. Charlie would kill me if I turned down dinner with Bruce Wayne, but truthfully I had no desire to be another of his conquests. Though I didn't think he'd tried, I had no doubts that once he turned on the charm he'd be very hard to resist. Best not to risk it.

"No, thank you." I took my hand away from his. "I enjoyed the dance, but I don't think dinner would be a good idea. Goodnight, Mr Wayne."

I got the impression I'd surprised him again. "Goodnight."

I turned away and left the dancefloor, heading back to where I could hear Barbara Gordon chatting to her husband.

---

**A/N: What did you think? Review please!**


	6. Second Impressions

**A/N: Thanks to LeahChristine09, brainfear, haji666, miss vertigo and AngelQueen for their reviews. I don't want to whine, but a lot more people than that added this story to their Story-Alerts. Come on, people! If you like it enough to add it to your story alerts then surely you like it enough to say so? Okay, I'm done bitching. **

**Chapter Six - Second Impressions**

"Are you alright, Ilaria?" Barbara asked me, her voice concerned. "You look a little flushed."

I forced a smile. "I'm fine. It's just rather hot in here."

"Nothing to do with Bruce Wayne then?" Jim's soft, slightly husky tone enquired.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "The man may be rich, but..."

Reminding myself that I was in the midst of Gotham's elite and 'jackass' probably wasn't an acceptable social term, I stopped.

Thankfully Jim seemed to catch my drift, and agreed. "Mmm. I've only really spoken to him a few times. He saved the life of someone in my custody last year."

My eyebrows shot up. "Really? Bruce Wayne?" Had I totally misjudged him? The heat in my face was embarrassment now.

He laughed. "Well...inadvertently. Trying to catch a green light."

I relaxed slightly and echoed his laugh.

"Smashed up his Lamborghini pretty good though..." Jim added, with a slightly regretful note in his voice.

Next to me, his wife sighed in exasperation. "Don't get Jim started on cars," she warned me. "He suffers from the male condition."

I considered. "Oh I don't know. There's something about the sound of a really fast car..."

"Oh, Ilaria, not you too," she moaned playfully.

"Well..." I shrugged. There was something about the roar of an engine that caused a shiver to run through me, always had. Of course the people who drove them tended to be playboys with too much time and money, but still.

Jim sighed. "Well I think I've had about all I can take of rubbing elbows with the rich and famous for one night."

"Part of your job, I guess?" I asked.

He chuckled. "It is now. Oh, to be a lieutenant again..."

"I imagine there are perks though, being in the top job?"

"Can't say I've found them yet," he told me. "There might be in other towns, but in Gotham-" He cut himself off with a sigh. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't need me to harp on about my problems."

"Can we offer you a lift home, Ilaria?" Barbara asked me. "Save you the cab fare."

I nodded. "Thanks."

I felt a little guilty at accepting a lift home from the commissioner of police when less than fifteen minutes after they dropped me off I was planning on going out and breaking the law. Admittedly I'd only be beating the crap out of criminals, but assault was still assault. Pushing the niggle of almost betrayal aside, I said goodnight to Barbara and Jim, then went upstairs.

Putting my suit on made me feel free, made me realise how much acting I'd done this evening. It was the safest thing to do, but God it was tedious. Most of the night I'd wanted to stand in the middle of the room and yell at them all for being so oblivious to the hardship of the people around them. Did Batman have the same problem?

Sighing, I stretched to warm up, checked my weapon and grappling hook, then moved to the doors. Stepping out onto the helipad, I took an inhale of cool night air, then set off on patrol.

---

I didn't stick around for long; it was late enough already and I needed to be patrolling soon. I'd come in the Lamborghini, so driving back to the manor at reckless speed wouldn't be a problem. It might have been easier just not to sell the penthouse, since that way I'd have a safe-house in the city. Of course if I'd done that then it wouldn't currently be occupied by such an...interesting resident.

Patrol had to be suspended for a while; I was investigating an arms dealer bringing in M-16s to Gotham. Traditional organised crime had become all but extinct thanks to the Joker and Dent, but that didn't mean that there weren't a million others waiting to pick up where Gambol and Maroni had left off.

So far all the gunmen I'd apprehended didn't know anything of significance - but the fact that they were, to a one, wearing clown masks when perpetrating their crimes told me everything I needed to know. Finding the main arms dealer and how they were getting the weapons into Gotham could mean a valuable source of information. The Joker might be in Arkham, but he was obviously still communicating with the outside world somehow. That needed to stop. Sometimes I thought I'd rather have the mob back than the mindless, motiveless crime that the Joker preferred. Criminals with guns was one thing - criminals with guns and no sense of discipline was something far more dangerous.

As a consequence, though I'd left the ball by midnight, I spent most of that night in the cave, following various leads using the most reliable method - follow the money. It would be the way anyone found me out. In fact it _was _how Colman Reese had. Thankfully he hadn't proven to be too much a problem since I'd saved his life - the one time I'd expected something in return. To be on the safe side, Mr Reese now had a nice cushy desk job in L.A., something which required very little work in return for his six figure salary.

When I looked at the clock, it was coming up to four am. The rich aroma of hot chocolate reached my nose, and I looked around to see that Alfred had somehow delivered a gently steaming pot without me noticing. There was a post-it note attached to the mug next to it. _Just in case you're planning on sleeping tonight. _

I smirked. Sleep in the hours of darkness would be a novel change. I'd kept the police scanner on to monitor the situation in Gotham, but it had been quiet all night so far. Besides, there was always Echo.

Despite being extremely suspicious of her, part of me was curious. She'd seemed genuine when she said she wanted to help - if that was true then it would certainly be weight off my shoulders. I frowned as a horrible thought struck me. She might want to clean up Gotham, but the _how _was crucial. Killing was unacceptable. I knew that, but did she? I'd have to make it clear the next time we met.

Pushing that aside for now, I turned my attention back to the computer. Following the money had led me to an Andrew Bristol - the owner of a small toy company downtown. _Toys? I'm after guns... Although..._ The fear toxin that Scarecrow and Ra's had used had come in stuffed rabbits and teddy bears. And using a company built around making children happy to smuggle guns had a kind of irony that would appeal to the Joker.

I pulled up a new window and accessed the website for Bristol's company. _Bingo. _It specialised in military toys. Perfect cover. Andrew Bristol would be getting a late-night visit from Batman tomorrow. Feeling quite satisfied with myself, I poured a mug of hot chocolate and got up, looking forward to the prospect of bed before sunrise.

I'd only gotten three steps before the scanner crackled into life. "_Unit 471 to Dispatch. Dispatch, come in please._"

"_Dispatch here._"

"_Contact Commissioner Gordon, there's a situation._"

"_Sit-rep?_"

"_We have two arsonists in custody who are claiming they were attacked by a costumed vigilante._"

Dispatch did not sound all that impressed. "_We know Batman's still in operation, 471. Hardly worth waking the-_"

"_It's not Batman._"

There was a slightly stunned silence before the woman in the police station spoke again. "_Say again, 471?_"

"_I repeat; it is not Batman. The vigilante is a woman._"

Echo. She obviously hadn't killed them. And she hadn't stuck around to talk to the police either. That suggested a healthy amount of caution. And as long as she didn't cross the line, I expected Gordon would be fairly anxious to meet her. I hadn't been able to contact him since Dent - it would be too dangerous for both of us. Maybe Echo would be able to. There was no way he'd resurrect the signal on top of MCU, there was too much suspicion and fear in Gotham to do that now, especially for an unknown vigilante.

Despite my intentions of going to bed early, it didn't happen. I kept listening to the scanner for signs of Echo, but nothing else came up. It was six by the time I finally got to sleep.

---

It was bothering me.

For some completely irritating reason, I couldn't get Bruce Wayne out of my head. I'd mentally called him a jackass earlier, though that wasn't exactly fair - he hadn't actually said anything completely moronic; it was just his criticism of Batman that had got under my skin. And faced with the police commissioner I couldn't exactly harp on about Batman all the time. I doubted Barbara would like it either - not with what he'd supposedly done to her family. I needed friends in this city, and Barbara Gordon was a genuinely lovely woman. We'd known each other only a day, but I liked her, and we'd arranged to meet for lunch later in the week.

But even so...I knew more about Barbara than I did Batman - so why was I so ready to believe that he couldn't have killed Harvey Dent?

Maybe it was because I knew how much the criminals still feared him. Echo hadn't been operating in the city for long, but when I dropped down from the shadows, the first flash of fear on their faces always faded when they realised they weren't dealing with a figure in a cape. Of course, I did my best to put the fear back on to their faces right after that realisation. And I wasn't doing too bad of a job, even if I did say so myself.

I watched with a smirk from a nearby rooftop as the police carted the two arsonists into a squad car and drove away. The building they'd set fire to was an empty store, luckily, and no one had been hurt or killed. "Have fun in jail, lads."

There had been no sign of Batman tonight, about which I was slightly disappointed. My encounter with Bruce Wayne - while the dance had been pleasant in its way - had left me slightly annoyed. It would have been nice to see Batman beating the shit out of someone. Preferably someone who was attacking Bruce Wayne, just so he would be made aware of how much good Batman did. It had been quiet again though, and I was tired, so soon after I made my way home.

Getting into bed had never felt so good. It felt like I was literally sinking into the mattress I was so comfortable. Thank God I didn't have anything major to do tomorrow. Or rather later today, since it was six am already.

I successfully ignored the ringing of the doorbell for a good ten minutes before I finally dragged my arse blearily out of bed and down the stairs. I pressed the buzzer. "Yes?"

Charlie's voice answered. "It's me, I've got Jasper and your mail."

"'kay..."

I moved over to the kitchen, filling up the kettle and dumping some coffee grounds into two cups. Thirty seconds later, the elevator doors pinged and Charlie came out, mid-flow. "_You _have a lot of explaining to do, Ria."

My sleepy brain had no idea what she was talking about. "Huh?"

"This!" she replied. She sat down on the couch while I crouched down to greet my dog, receiving a lick on my hand and a very waggly tail as my reward. I rubbed his ears and fussed him for a bit before standing up, reaching for his food.

"Never mind your dog," Charlie snapped, "get in here!"

I raised an eyebrow at her tone; it was rare we fought or lost our tempers with the other. "In a minute."

I poured some food into a bowl, told Jasper to eat and then stood again. The crunch of paper reached my ears as I came out of the kitchen with our coffees. "The _Gazette_?" I asked.

"No," she told me, "it's the _Times_."

I frowned. "And what have I done to offend the _Times_?" I asked

"Oh nothing. But on the front page of the society section..."

"Oh no," I groaned. "Let me guess." I should have identified the tension in her voice before - it wasn't annoyance, it was suppressed glee.

"You _danced _with Bruce Wayne!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe you didn't phone me and tell me straight away!"

"It was past midnight by the time I got home-"

"It's Bruce Wayne!" she insisted. "I'd have gotten up for that!"

"Charlie, it's really no big deal, he's just-"

"Just _Bruce Wayne_!" she repeated. "Seriously, Ria, what's he like?"

"He's...I can see how he would be charming," I said honestly. "But I found him slightly vapid and...I don't know...something about him just bothered me."

I didn't lie to Charlie; she didn't know about Echo, but over the years it had become easy to reinterpret the truth, or to hide certain parts of it. And there had been something about Bruce Wayne that interested me. He obviously wasn't stupid, whatever else he might be, and the conversation had been almost dichotomous - he'd ask serious questions and then immediately make a stupid remark.

"Bothered you enough to see him again?" she asked knowingly.

I rolled my eyes at the smirk in her voice. "Hardly. I turned him down when he asked me to dinner."

"Ilaria!"

I winced in pain at her shriek. "Ow! Do you know how high-pitched your voice gets when you do that?"

She ignored my complaint. "_Bruce Wayne_! How could you say no to _Bruce Wayne_?"

"I didn't like him, Charlie, I'm hardly likely go to dinner with someone I don't like."

"You just said he could be charming," she pointed out.

"I'm sure he could; he could charm me right into being another notch on his bedpost if I let him."

"I could think of worse things to be," she commented.

"Of course _you _could," I smirked. "Now pass me my mail."

There wasn't really anything interesting, mostly bills apart from the last one: an invitation to a charity gala Mayor Garcia was holding in two weeks, with all proceeds going to the National Federation for the Blind. In fact it wasn't an invitation so much as it was asking me to perform.

I made a mental note to reply with a 'yes', and put the letter down, draining the last of my coffee.

"I still can't believe you turned _Bruce Wayne _down," Charlie muttered. "It's almost sacrilege."

"Merda, will you drop it?" I muttered. "If I'd know you were going to be this much trouble I'd have said yes."

"Good, call him."

"Nice try, but I don't have his number." Before she could reply, I changed the subject. "How's the painting coming?"

"Not well," she admitted. "I'm just not happy with it. His face isn't how I remember it."

"You could always try and find him again," I suggested. Charlie was working on a portrait of a homeless man she'd met once, just by chance.

"Yeah right. Do you know how many homeless people there are in this city?" she asked.

Unfortunately, I knew all too well; they were the people who got the brunt of the anger of the criminals if something didn't go well. I did my best, but all too often I couldn't get there in time, and just came across corpses of people who had nowhere else to go. Just last night I'd heard screams, and arrived too late to do anything. There was just a bloodied old woman, slumped on the pavement.

I tracked down her attacker though - he got a broken collarbone and wrist as his reward, and then been dumped at the gates of the police precinct. It hadn't made me feel better, and nor had it brought the victim back.

The door buzzer went again, and I crossed to it with a frown. I wasn't expecting a delivery. "Hello?"

"Delivery from Maynard Flowers for Ilaria Simmons," a bored sounding voice answered me.

I frowned in surprise. Who'd be sending me flowers? Much less from the most exclusive florist in the city. "Um, come up."

I suddenly became very aware that I was still in my pyjamas, my hair un-brushed and wearing no makeup at all. It was only a delivery guy, but still - Maynard Avenue. "Charlie, can you sign for them for me? I'm going to throw some clothes on."

"Sure."

I showered quickly - and as soon as I opened the bathroom door the incredible smell of the flowers hit me. Roses and freesias mainly, with a hint of hyacinth mixed in there too. All very fragrant blooms, chosen for their scent more than anything. _Hmm. _That suggested thoughtfulness that many people didn't have. Who on Earth were they from?

Once I'd dressed, I went back downstairs. "Who sent them?" I asked.

"No idea, there's no card."

I frowned and approached the flowers she'd set on the coffee table. They'd apparently come in a vase already; cut crystal from the weight of it. I buried my nose into the flowers, inhaling deeply. They smelled heavenly.

And they were ringing.

I frowned, then located the cell phone buried inside the blooms. I opened it and put the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Simmons."

"Who is this?"

---

**A/N: Review please!**


	7. A Date For The Detective

**A/N: Well I owe you all a huge apology! I'm so so so so so sorry that I haven't updated in, well, _forever,_ but here I am, back again. Just been going through some writer's block here, but hopefully I've overcome that now. A huge thank you to my reviewers, and to my beta, Thought! ****Enjoy! **

******Chapter Seven - A Date for the Detective**

"I'm not sure whether to be offended. Women don't usually forget me so easily."

There was a slightly stunned pause, and when she spoke again her voice was incredulous. "Bruce Wayne?!"

"You're a hard woman to reach, Miss Simmons."

"Well if I'd wanted to be reached I would have left a phone number," she said icily. "Now what exactly can I do for you?"

"You can have dinner with me," I replied.

As soon as the invitation to the mayor's gala had appeared in my mail, I realised I had the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Ilaria Simmons – to work out exactly what it was about her that nagged at me. Alfred's answer had been quite simple: that I found her attractive and hadn't actually spent any time with a woman I genuinely was interested in. I had a horrible feeling he might have a point, but arranged for the flowers to be delivered anyway.

"I think you heard my answer last night," she said. "It hasn't changed."

"Well may I at least know the reason?" I pushed, feeling slightly annoyed, and not knowing why. Maybe Alfred was right – he usually was. It had been too long since I found a woman who didn't want a boost up the fame list, and I wasn't used to it being a challenge.

"I'd rather not be another one-night stand," she answered simply.

Damn reputation. "And if I assured you I had no intention of trying to sleep with you?"

"I'm not sure you could help yourself," she said, a slight smirk in her voice. "And as pleasant as being exposed to a Bruce Wayne charm-offensive might be, I would prefer not to risk it. Though I will say thank you for the flowers."

"Thank you for the flowers, but this will be the last time we have contact with each other?" I summarised.

"That's it."

"Alright, I will admit that I had an ulterior motive for wanting to speak to you," I told her. Though I would still like to buy you dinner...I need a date for something."

Her voice was scathing. "And bimbo-of-the-week won't do?"

"Not in this instance, no. The mayor's gala for the National Federation for the Blind – for once I'd like to take a woman I can hold a conversation with." I frowned slightly as I said that. That hadn't been in the script. As far as she knew, I was just as dim as the women I dated – Bruce Wayne didn't have intelligent conversations. Bruce Wayne was a spoiled playboy who relied on his money to get him through life. No choice but to go along with the bluff. Or the truth, I realised uncomfortably. "And from the discussion we had last night I think you'd fulfil that role rather well."

"And if I don't want to play the game?" she asked, sounding interested for the first time in the phone call.

"Well I can't force you to," I replied. "But I imagine it would be more fun playing it with you than a lot of others."

There was a pause, and when she spoke again, her voice was slightly gentler, but tired of the flirting. "Look, let's cut to the chase here, Mr Wayne-"

"Bruce," I interrupted automatically.

I got the impression she was suppressing the urge to sigh impatiently. "_Bruce_. You know that I have no interest in dating you, but since, obviously, this is a cause close to my heart, and if you need a date who will look good in the papers, I'll accompany you – on the understanding that my company is going to cost you a substantial donation to the charity."

I smiled. "How substantial?"

"Well normally I'd suggest about ten thousand dollars, but that's really a drop in the ocean for you, isn't it?" she said. "So whatever counts as substantial in a billionaire's books."

I considered. "Agreed."

She wasn't finished. "And for that night only; no dinner, no further dates and definitely no attempts at seducing me, are we clear?"

I forced back a chuckle. "We're clear."

"Excellent. Then you can pick me up at seven," she said crisply.

"Alright," I agreed, feeling that I'd had easier business negotiations than organising this one date had been.

"Goodbye, Mr Wayne."

"Good-" When the dial tone sounded, I couldn't help it, and for the first time in a long time, I surrendered to the urge to really laugh.

---

I snapped the phone closed and then squeezed my eyes shut. "Oh my God. Tell me I did not just do that. Tell me I did not just agree to go on a date with Bruce Wayne."

Charlie's cackles told me everything I needed to know. I groaned and let out a stream of curses. Eventually she calmed down. "I liked the 'ten thousand dollars' line," she mused, amusement still trembling in the background of her voice.

"Well it's true," I pointed out, "he can afford it." I blew my cheeks out and leaned back on the couch. "_Why_ did I just do that?"

"Who knows, it could be because it will bring more publicity to the charity."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Yeah, but that's not what you think, is it?"

She chortled again. "No, I think your subconscious got the better of you and decided _it _wanted to be a notch on Bruce Wayne's bedpost whether the rest of you did or not."

"I'm _not _going to sleep with him," I emphasised.

"Yeah ok, ok."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

"And on that mature note, I'm leaving," she said. "_I_ have to do _some _work I suppose."

I wanted to point out that I'd spent last night working my arse off, but decided against it, and only nodded. "Okay. I have a concert tonight anyway. We're doing the 1812 Overture - complete with cannons, apparently."

"Scavron does realise they just _built _Symphony Hall, right?"

I shrugged. "No doubt a hole in the wall would just be a sacrifice necessary for his art."

She laughed. "You know sometimes I don't think people like that are on the same planet."

"So says the artist," I commented dryly. "Though you might be right. Scavron certainly doesn't seem to be bound by the same laws of common sense as the rest of us."

"Mmm," Charlie agreed. "Much like the Bruce Waynes of this world."

I smiled. Wayne's habit of spelunking and BASE jumping wasn't exactly a secret, though why anyone would choose to throw themselves voluntarily off rooftops... I chose not to think about the fact that jumping with a parachute was a hell of a lot safer than trusting what was basically a zip-wire to hold you. As I had done... several times last night.

Casting around for a none-Echo related subject, I asked if she'd taken Jasper for a walk. "Yesterday I did, but not this morning."

"Right, I'll take him for a quick stroll around the park before I have to go in." I stood. "Jasper, walk!"

Before we left the apartment, I couldn't resist bending once more to bury my nose in the flowers. There could be no denying that it was a thoughtful gesture, but it was only because he wanted something.

So why in _Dio's_ name had I said yes?

---

I watched as Andrew Bristol shut up shop, bolting the door and sliding the metal shutters closed across the windows. He turned back to the darkened store; from my hiding place I threw a toy soldier at the door. Predictably, he turned to have a look, but seeing nothing, turned back.

I'd already moved silently, and was now standing in front of him. When he faced me, he had the normal reaction; he screamed, leaping back. I was already moving forward, and pinned him against the wall.

"How is the Joker communicating with you?" I demanded.

He gaped wordlessly for a moment. I slammed him against a different wall. "Tell me!"

"I don't- He's not-"

"You're an arms-dealer, supplying the Joker - _how _is he communicating with you? _How _is he paying you?"

He finally got a coherent sentence out. "I- I don't know, I swear, the money just appears in my account every time I make a delivery, a company called Metropolis Exports. The last one is due for tomorrow, there's no more-"

From outside, there was the sound of three shots. They were close. Before I could knock Bristol unconscious so he couldn't run away, though, the glass door exploded inward, an out-cold clown crashing through it. The sounds of a fight continued from the street outside. Maintaining a firm grip on Bristol, I looked through the shutters.

Sure enough, there were five more of the Joker's thugs, and one more figure; slender, dressed entirely in black and moving fast. There was a flash of metal in her hand; a nunchaku that, as I watched, she swung at the abdomen of one clown. He bent double, and Echo whipped around him, slamming her weapon into the back of his neck. She was a good fighter, but she might not be good enough; if I wanted to get the rest of the information out of Bristol, I needed to work fast.

"How is the Joker contacting you from Arkham?"

"Comic books!" he blurted. "I-in Superman comic books - there's a code, and on certain lines he circles a word, and then all I have to do is put it together to get the message-"

He must be lying; no way would the Joker be allowed to send mail that hadn't been read, and especially something as innocuous as a comic book. Any psychologist that knew anything about the Joker would know that was exactly the kind of thing he'd use to pass on instructions of violence. Were it not for the fact that anything he sent would be scrutinised, I'd be inclined to think Bristol was telling the truth. "Where's the latest one?"

"I- in my office, I was gonna destroy it later-"

The sounds of the fight outside had died down, but now there was a new sound; sirens. The cops would be here in a matter of minutes, and there wasn't time for more interrogation. One solid punch to Bristol's temple, and he crumpled to the floor. I made my way quickly to the back of the store, vaulting over the counter and into the back office.

There was another exit, and Echo's silhouette stood in it. "Hurry," she said. "Cops'll be here any second."

There was no sign of a comic book on any surface I could see, and no time to investigate more thoroughly. Seeing a piece of paper and pen, I quickly scrawled down the location of the guns for the cops - in the basement, hidden underneath crates of G.I. Joe action figures - and followed Echo out of the back door into the alley behind the store, just as cops burst in the front way.

She'd already fired a grapple-line up to the top of the nearest building, and was being reeled up it. I followed suit, landing a few seconds behind her. She turned to face me, pulling something out of a pocket in the leg of her suit. "Gonna tell me why I'm holding a _Superman _comic book?"

"I thought I told you not to come out here again," I growled, ignoring her question.

It was disconcerting, looking into blank white lenses. There was no way for me to tell what she was thinking. _Perhaps I should incorporate them into my mask. _When she spoke her voice was perfectly even. "And I decided not to listen."

"How did you know to investigate Bristol?"

"I didn't. I followed you," she answered with a hint of smugness in her tone. Smugness that was well-deserved; I'd had no idea she was within twenty blocks. Impressed despite myself, I folded my arms and waited. "So you going to tell me why Bristol is so important?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm not a thug," she replied. "Beating the shit out of the scum is fun enough, but don't treat me like I don't have the brains to help with the investigations."

I stared at her for at least ten seconds. At no point did she shift or look anything less than quite at her ease. "He's smuggling weapons into the city."

"And you want to find his buyers," she assumed.

"No," I countered, "I know who's buying them. The Joker."

She nodded, but I could feel her surprise. "How is he communicating with his weapons supplier from inside Arkham?"

"That's why I came to see Bristol."

"What did you get out of him?"

"You heard," I said. "Somewhere in that comic book are the messages."

She threw it to me. "Remember what I said. I want to know what you find out."

I studied her again. "We'll see," I said gruffly.

Echo seemed to take that as good enough, since she strode over to the other side of the building and fired a line down. She paused for a moment, smirking. "Don't worry about not being able to find me," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be around, Detective."

---

**A/N: Review please!**


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